Her Bloody Valentine
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: A Valentine's Day offering of incest, blood and murder. All the things in life that remind us romance is not dead. For mature audiences. May be squicky to some.
1. Heart Line

Heart Line

In the morning-muted corridor, Narcissa took a deep breath. She smoothed her hands over her trim skirt as if the solidity of her hips could encourage a solidity of thought. She schooled a pleasant smile, and knocked softly on the heavy door.

"Yes?" Her husband's voice was its usual impatience.

She entered the study as though standing before a firing squad. "Good morning, darling."

"Morning." More an acknowledgment of the time than the wife. He barely glanced up from his desk. In fact, she'd been waiting there nervously for nearly a minute before he set aside his quill to regard her. "What can I do for you?"

She recalled a time...some time ago...when she'd been...13? Perhaps 14? A young Slytherin called on the carpet before Dumbledore for charming a cluster of cauldrons to chase an enemy Gryffindor through the dungeons. At the time, she'd denied nothing. Held her chin high and confessed. Dumbledore had laughed. Consigned her to a week's of detentions with McGonagall, then asked her for the spell she'd used.

This situation was entirely different. _He shouldn't make me feel this way. _Resentment stopped her throat and she cleared it demurely. "I hoped to do some shopping -"

"No."

Her nostrils flared. She felt her eye twitch. "Lucius -"

"Narcissa." His hands - graceful and cold - clapped onto his embossed blotter. "I have already expressed my wishes on this matter. Why you insist on resurrecting the issue is beyond me."

"It's been months, Lucius. Draco and I both grow stir crazy and with summer approaching we could both use new clothes."

"You know how to request the catalogues, I believe." He pushed away from his desk and stood. Thinner now, his robes swished more. It was an intimidating trait. "I refuse to have my son and wife accosted in the streets or humiliated or...worse. Narcissa it is not safe. You are still a Malfoy -"

"We cannot live in hiding forever, Lucius!"

"Do you recall what they called me after our trials?" He leaned into her space. She could smell the Earl Grey on his breath, feel the heat of it. "What they shouted at us as we left the Wizengamot? The Prophet's headlines?"

Her jaw tightened. She could feel his magic bristling, but it was time. Time for her own magic to bristle. Time for this to be settled. "I will go without your permission."

"The bloody hell you will."

"I will take Draco and we will prove to you -"

He rounded on her so quickly she jumped. "Respect my wishes!" He bellowed suddenly. "For the last several weeks you have attempted at every turn to flout my authority in this house - _my _house! I am weary of it!"

Her hot tears were embarrassing - and galvanising. "I'm weary as well!" She shouted back, pulse racing with a cocktail of fury, fear and shame. "I'm weary of your sulking and bullying and stubborn refusal to -"

The back of his hand silenced her. The blow was quick and hard. The worst kind of shock. Narcissa reeled, caught herself against his desk. Her ear rang brightly and pain was a hot knife stabbing into her neck. Agape, tasting her own blood, she tried to remember to breathe.

"You've changed." He breathed as though he was also shocked by the violence. "There was a time when you knew your place. We were so happy, Narcissa." He reached for her cheek and she lurched away. His face worked uncertainty and frustration. "I want to protect you. To keep you safe, witch!"

When she staggered away from him again, he grabbed her arm harshly. "Listen to me!"

She yelped. "Let me go!"

His mouth tightened, knowing shouting would draw attention from the house's other occupant: his son. And that relationship was strained enough. He drew his wife to his chest. Clamped a hand over her mouth. "Dammit, Narcissa! Shhh!"

But his wrist scraped hard her injured cheek and again she cried out, flicked her head from his hand. "Ow! How dare you!" She jabbed an elbow awkwardly into his chest. They tussled further. "Let me go!" She trembled, felt her magic arcing, knew that if she could reach her wand at her waist -

"What the Hell?!" Draco's intrusion brought a freeze to their heated encounter. The young man - eyes wide, manic - stared for a second. His jaw was stone. He was taller than she'd ever realised. "Father." A breath. She watched his wand slide smoothly into his hand from his sleeve. "Let her go."

Lucius rattled behind her. His muscles twitched. A nervous thoroughbred. It felt as though his arms, his hands still painfully tight on her arms, were incapable of releasing her. "This is none of your concern, Draco." Lucius' breath puffed at her loosened hair.

"Son…" She whispered. His eyes flicked to hers. Silver studs. He saw her rapidly bruising cheek and the studs hardened.

Draco stepped forward. In that moment, a harsh cut of sun bissecting him, Narcissa saw her saviour. Smoothly, he took hold of his father's hand curling around her arm. "I said let her go." His wand raised level with Lucius' neck and she was freed.

Her body was so tensed that when she staggered away, her knees weakened. It was Draco who caught her against him, one arm supporting her and the other still a defense against his father. Lucius leaned against his desk, suddenly crumpled. His left eye twitched and he couldn't hold Draco's gaze.

"Draco." Narcissa took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself. She placed a hand against his chest. The hard cage held a hammering drum. "Please."

He didn't look away from Lucius, but his wand arm began to lower. "Gather some things, mother. We'll be leaving for a time."

She looked up at her son. He was so impossibly tall. A tower to her. "Draco?" Her eyelids fluttered and she felt tears escape.

His eyes cut to her just briefly. "Go on, mum. I'll come to your rooms soon. Lock up, right?"

She didn't argue. Nodded. Reluctant to step from his side. She looked between father and son as she backed away. Her conservative heels felt too high. Her head throbbed and she swayed, stepped out of the shoes. At the door, she turned back only once. "Draco…"

The two men were still as statues. Dust motes caught light like fairy fluff in the air. She feared for a second - hoped? - that the son might kill the father. But Draco's free hand gestured firmly from his side. _Go._

She went.

Her bedroom was dark. She wrung her hands. Paced for a moment. She was concerned about the confrontation in Lucius' study. Strangely or not so strangely she couldn't be arsed if Lucius was killed, but what of Draco? For a feverish second her mind muddled how they would protect him.

_How does one dispose of a body? What if there is Fiendfyre? _She chewed her lip. The corner of her mouth spat pain and she remembered her face. Cradled it. _What if Draco is injured?_

Numbly, she did as her son bade. Confident in his confidence. Her charmed valise held numerous frocks and blouses, skirts and shoes. She gave no thought to wardrobe, simply levitated handfuls of hangers into the canvas maw. Next her lingerie. She disregarded jewels. Felt instinctively inclined to focus on necessities.

The valise snapped closed in conjunction with a sharp rap on her door. "Mother."

She hurried to cancel her locking charm and Draco swept in importantly. "Draco!" The temptation to hug him, to touch him, to check for wounds was great but she resisted. "Are you alright?"

He was more concerned for her it seemed. His hands took her shoulders, turned her this way and that. Seeing no serious damage, he focused on her face. Took her unmarked cheek to turn the other. "Damn," he whispered.

"It's alright."

"Bollocks. Heal it up. D'you have dittany?" He was already gathering her bag from her bed.

"Draco where are we going?"

"Somewhere he won't find us."

"We can't run away from -"

"I have to decide what to do, mum. I need some time. Come on." He'd grabbed her cloak from the wardrobe door, stepped to her again. "Fix your face."

In her lav, she looked in the mirror and gasped. "Oh." The entire side of her head was purpling. Her lips split at the corners and blood had gone sticky there. She drew her wand from its holster and started hot water flowing into the sink. Her hands shook as she rinsed her mouth and face. She took several deep breaths before attempting her few healing charms, but even after, her face remained blue and bruised. At least the pain was gone.

She collected a few toiletries and left the bathroom. Draco was seated on the foot of her bed. He looked at his wand in his hands. She paused. "Draco. Your father?"

"I imagine he'll be collecting himself for a full bluster soon enough."

She dropped her tooth and hairbrush into her bag. "Where will we go."

"I have an idea."

"I see." _I trust you. _She reached for his face. He let her caress his cheek, even rubbed against her palm. There was a day's stubble there. "I'm sorry."

"Mum." He murmured into her hand. "I think father may be losing his mind."

"Perhaps." She stepped away from him. "I'm certainly losing mine."

Draco stood. "Come on. We've quite an apparation." She nodded. No questions. Would follow her savior anywhere.

On the massive Malfoy grounds, dusk muted the treeline. The air was fresh and the promise of freedom sweet. Narcissa licked her lips. Her bag brushed Draco's as they linked arms. "Hold on," he said.

She turned her tender face into his shoulder. Curled an arm around his waist. He returned the half embrace and she felt the familiar heady swirl of magical travel absorb her. She held on tightly. She would hold on forever…

From dusk to dusk, they touched down in a densely wooded forest. Narcissa lost her balance and oophed gracelessly onto her arse. Draco followed her roll, managing to catch himself over her form. "Ah!" He grimaced at a pain in his elbow.

"Alright, son?" Narcissa blew hair from her face, touching his shoulder in concern.

"Mm." He pushed onto his side, sat up and cradled his arm. "Yeah. I'm fine." His suit sleeve was torn. A bit of blood showed through on the exposed skin. "Must have hit a stone. You?"

She sat up. "I'm fine. Let me see?" She reached for his arm but he shrugged off her hand.

"Later."

She looked around, let him help her to her feet. "Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Please tell me we are not camping."

"No! No." He seemed as disgusted by the idea as she did. "Well. I mean, not _really_ camping."

"Where are we?"

"Wales."

She gave him her most suspicious brow. He ignored it and raised his wand. Cast a simple point me charm. "Come on. This way."

They climbed a leafy incline. Difficult for Narcissa in pumps and a trim skirt. Draco tried not to grin as he hauled her along behind him. Her complaints were wholly expected. As was her reaction when they finally emerged behind a rustic fence encircling an idyllic setting.

She blinked and frowned. "What is this?"

Draco dusted his trouser legs. Cast a quick cleaning spell over both of them. "This is a caravan camp, mum."

The site was large. A few acres. Lightly wooded, it was cool and inviting. And full of modern muggle caravans.

Narcissa glared at him. She looked unconvinced. Magical caravans were common in their world. Often, the gypsy witches and wizards passed through with some magical faire or other. Their wooden wagons were lighted with lanterns and decorated with bright, elaborate tapestries. There was music and the tingle of enchantments in the air. Tables set up in seconds displayed jewelry and their singular Bohemian attire. Skirts swirled and faces smiled. Fortunes were read and crystal balls clouded with truth.

She looked back at the sparse muggle campground with its plastic and metal caravans. Tents dotted here and there. Lawn chairs littered the lawn. Cars and lorries. Dogs tied on stakes barked or scratched at fleas. And fat, old muggles.

No magic. No skirts. No wagons or fortune tellers. "I can't do this," she said. Panic tinged her voice.

"He'll never look here." Draco took her valise. "Come on, mum."

"How do you know this place?" She hadn't budged.

Draco sighed. He knew this witch. She would need answers before any progress would be made. "I came here once with Aunt Bella. During…" He trailed off. Looked at the campground now so peaceful, recalled it aflame.

Narcissa nodded slowly, understanding. Draco's stint as a Death Eater had left him scarred in many ways. She knew he had no fondness for the memories, so she didn't pursue details. "Of course." _I trust you. _So she gestured. "Lead on, then."

Draco made his way around the site's fenced barrier. A few metres from the offices, he stopped them. "You wait here, mum." He dropped his own bag. "Stay out of sight. I'm going to make...arrangements for us."

"I suppose you are," Narcissa said. "In case you haven't noticed, we are not in possession of a muggle caravan."

"We will be." He secreted his wand in his sleeve. "Just...wait here."

Narcissa nodded, smirking. "As you wish." She settled herself against an impressive fir nearby and watched her son stalk toward the only structures clustered on the property that didn't have wheels on. A large sign - handpainted green on white - read:** Welcome to Heritage Yew Caravan Camp! A Perfect Place for a Rest ** She frowned. From the inhabitants she'd seen thus far, she wondered if the sign spoke of eternal rest.

It _was_ quiet, though. And peaceful. The dogs had settled and she could hear birds chirping. She closed her eyes and leaned her throbbing head against the tree at her back. Smells of resin and fertile black soil. Narcissa sighed.

A loud bang broke her reverie. She started from the tree, worried muggles were brandishing guns, prepared to burn the witch. She hadn't thought to check for stakes. But instead she saw her son approaching, laughing and conversing genially with a rather portly and...brightly ginger man. "Oh, good goddess," she whispered.

"Mum! Good news. Mr. Thwackett here has a caravan ready for us!" His smile seemed so genuine.

She returned it. "Delightful!"

The muggle was clearly Imperiused. Draco was clearly victorious. Narcissa grinned at her son wryly as she shook Mr. Thwackett's hand. "Thank you kindly, sir. I look forward to our stay."

"My pleasure!" Thwackett was a friendly sort. Jolly and pink cheeked. Freckled. "Always happy to take care of our proud RAF boys. I was a member of the Fusiliers, myself!" He made a sudden show of saluting Draco.

Narcissa smiled at her son. He shrugged innocently.

"Well, come along then. I'm sure you're tired from your walk. Bad news about your MG. Never were much for reliability, the older models." For all Narcissa knew, they were speaking some made-up language. She just followed along quietly, listening to their genial banter.

Draco was good at this. She wondered when he had become so muggle savvy. If he didn't have some secret life she should ferret out.

Camp residents waved as they passed by. They seemed almost too friendly. As if they had all been imperiused by the fresh Welsh air and sunshine filtering through the green canopy. She wondered if there was some evil here far worse than any the Dark Lord had ever known…

"Well, here we are! Old Bessie."

Old Bessie was a tiny contraption comprised of metal and windows. It was a bit like a sardine tin with an overlarge screened awning attached. Thwackett threw aside a flap and ushered them into the cool shade. He wrested a ring of keys from his pocket, freed one for Draco and opened the caravan door. "Nice and clean," he said. "The missus does fine work with a scrubber!"

It was indeed, clean. There was hardly enough room for any mess to accumulate. They'd walked directly into a kitchenette. And dining area. And bedroom. Narcissa had to assume the tiny door to the left led to a lavatory, though she feared imagining its size. She cleared her throat. "Lovely!"

"It's perfect." Draco turned to Thwackett. "Thank you, sir. I believe we'll take it from here."

"Good!" Thwackett handed over a packet bulging with leaflets. "Here's a schedule of some of our events upcoming. I hope you like a good pig roast!"

Cissa blinked. Draco was laughing, stepping out with the muggle. Alone in the caravan, she looked up. She was only a few inches from the ceiling here. No wonder Draco had stooped so lowly. She sighed. Nudged their valises underneath the table before her. _How has this happened?_

"Well. That was easy." Draco closed the caravan door. She had no choice but to maneuver into the seating area to let him pass. He stopped. Hair brushing the ceiling. His long arm reached out and opened the mystery door. Behind it, he commented. "Oh you'll be happy, mum! There's a little bathtub!"

She was not happy. "Draco…"

The door closed and he reappeared. Behind him, there was bed. Just bed. She gestured to it. "Where are we going to sleep?"

He looked to her gesture. Stared for a moment. "There?"

She regarded him as one would a mental patient. Or a Longbottom. "Together?"

His face worked. "We _are_ family, mum." Quite matter of fact.

She blushed brightly. Looked about. "I hardly know what to do…"

"Look." He rubbed at her arms, meaning comfort. "I know this seems...insane. But I think we need to be here for a while. I think we need to regroup." He urged her to sit at the little table. "I'm going to the shop. They have groceries and such. I think a cuppa will benefit us. And we'll talk."

She nodded. Feet bumped their bags. Tea sounded lovely. "Right."

He touched her face. "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Go get the tea."

He smirked. "I'll be back." Paused bent in the doorway. "Unless the geriatric muggles get me."

"That isn't funny!" She called to his back. More quiet. She examined her nails. Her cuticles were a bit dry. Picked at one. Stopped herself. She sniffed. Something smelled vaguely of cauldron soap. _Do muggles use cauldron soap? Surely not._ She couldn't take it. Rose with purpose and dropped their bags on the bed.

The one bed. It was an odd bed. The width of the caravan and the length of a park bench. _I suppose if we sleep sideways… _She looked back to the tiny table. It was built into seating cushioned in periwinkle blue. _Or I could sleep underneath the table._

She sighed and began their unpacking. It wasn't difficult to organise. There were only four drawers total, in the area beneath the bed. But they were spacious and she made do. There was also storage above the table and miniscule stove. She had to admit that the muggles made ingenius use of the space at their disposal, limited as it was.

Task completed, she sat on the bed to have a look about. And sank into mattress. "Oh!" She pushed up onto her elbows. "That was unexpected…" Less a proper bed and more a giant pillow filled with down. But surprisingly comfortable.

The wall opposite her was mainly shelving. The thin shelves held books. She didn't have to get closer to read the titles. _His Nubile Mistress. Can You Keep a Secret? The Irish Au Pair. The Love Child of Daniel McDonough. _She also didn't have to wonder at the contents; the covers - buxom women wrapped in forbidden man-arms - were more than suggestive.

And above the books, paradoxically, were two images. One, a photo of an elderly woman in a crown - "Our Beloved Queen" - and the other a painting of a younger woman wearing rags. Narcissa squinted to read the title of the painting. _The Washer Woman._

Her head cocked. "How bloody odd," she murmured.

Draco crashed into the caravan, an ungainly box in his arms and loaded with bags. She rushed to his aid. "Good goddess, you've planned for a year's stay!"

There was hardly space for the grocering. Much of it fell off the counter or rolled from the table. "That woman just kept telling me I needed things!" He chased an apple onto the caravan's steps and caught it at the door. "I couldn't tell her no. They're so damn nice, mum!"

"I've noticed." She regarded a packet of paper plates with disdain. "I put our things away."

"Where?"

She glared at him. He smirked. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know it's dreadfully small. I didn't realise -"

"That we would be joined at the hip?"

He poked her hip. "Could be worse."

She flushed hotly and gaped at him. "Draco!"

He bit into an apple and sat to the little table. "Put the kettle on, mum. I'm knackered."

She looked from his chewing face to the tiny stove. "Put the kettle on…" She repeated, lost. There were knobs and things. "...How?"

Draco had the audacity to laugh. "This is going to be an adventure, mum."

The muggle stove was a debacle. They'd opened the few windows of the caravan to dispel the excess gas and taken their tea beneath the awning outside. Plastic spoons did not clink pleasantly against plastic cups. But the tea was delicious and hot and the cream was fresh and cold and the picnic table beneath the awning was decorated with muggle hieroglyphics.

"Did you know Keith loves Meranda?" Draco asked absently, rubbing the inscription.

Narcissa scoffed. "I highly doubt that."

He looked up sharply. A loon sang of evening fall. "Do you love father?"

The light from within their camper softened the sadness on her face. She tried to smile. Had to lie. "Of course I do."

"Has he hit you before?"

"No, Draco." She rubbed at her eyes. "Your father's changed. It's understandable. After everything that's happened -"

"Everything that _he _caused?" Draco toyed with his empty cup. "He should be in Azkaban."

"And the same could be said of you," she reminded softly. "You did take the mark, Draco."

He was very quiet. His eyes darkened and Narcissa swallowed. "Do you think I would have chosen that path? If they hadn't threatened to kill me? To kill you?" Then as if he'd spoken too much, he looked away. "Doesn't matter now, I suppose."

She was so tired of tears in her eyes. She refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. Not again. "Draco. You never really told me -"

"I said it doesn't matter." He stood. Took her empty cup. "I could sleep for days, mum."

She nodded. "Go on to bed, then. I might...try to bathe."

Behind her, he rubbed her shoulder. Bent to kiss the part in her hair. "Good night, then. And good luck. I hope you and the soap can both fit." He didn't see her eyeroll.

Alone again, she stared through netting into the not quite darkness around them. It would be difficult to be lonely here. Their muggle neighbours were only a few yards away on either side. And the old couple to the left were doing much the same as the Malfoys: talking quietly beneath their awning.

She felt things. Freedom. Away from the confines of her dreary manor and the still-prying eyes of the Daily Prophet. Away from the rumours and stares. Away from her unhinged husband. Anonymity was comforting. And safety. It was odd to feel safe. Strange and alien. And even odder that it should be her son making it so.

_He will protect me. He has protected me. _The sudden and startling realisation melted her. It served to stoke an ember to a flame; a tiny curiosity blazed into a possibility. _He might do anything for me…_

Inside the caravan she scowled. Draco's clothes littered the floor. She sighed heavily and gathered them. _Not a house elf...or a caravan elf. _She wasn't certain how they would go about laundering their attire, and looking about she settled for tossing the lump onto their seating. _Later._

She was stopped short at the tiny lav's door. The moonlight filtering through their screen windows revealed her son sleeping in their bed. He'd kindly left a generous space for her, sheets eskew around his bare torso. Stars painted him marble. His face was peaceful - a dead face. For a moment, she watched his chest to make certain it was moving.

The tiny lav was a nightmare. The toilet closed to become a table. Sort of. The sink was part of the shower. The shower was above the bathtub. The bathtub was barely big enough for Narcissa and she was well aware she was a small witch. By the time she was submerged in water that was either scalding or freezing, she'd bruised her elbows and knees on every surface. It was exhausting.

And the muggle soap was an overpowering amalgamation of lavendar, vanilla and mint. Noxious and unsettling. She couldn't seem to rinse it away, and after she was frustrated with the trying, she surrendered and toweled off, successfully bruising all her unbruised places.

The bedding was pure luxury to her stiff body. For the first time in months, she felt herself relax into the cotton's embrace. Outside, crickets chirped. A breeze turned the stench of vanilla into a pleasant presence, and she began to drift.

She may have been asleep. She may have been dreaming the feeling of his body curling round hers; the sinewy arm encircling, the belly lurching against her bottom, the whispered, "You smell good…" Yes, she must have been dreaming…

She woke alone. And to laughter. An almost alien sound. The duvet was a mess around her and her gown was bunched in all the wrong places, a breast nearly revealed. Even half asleep she hoped Draco hadn't seen that. _Draco._ She heard his voice outside. Conveniently she reached beneath the bed and retrieved her dressing gown. In the kitchenette, a proper British breakfast rested beneath a shimmery warming charm.

She smiled, waved her wand and tucked in. The crispy bacon rashers were perfect. Toasties toasty. Beans not too mushy. Eggs perfectly runny. Or she was starving. Either way, it was delicious. Had Draco cooked? The stove was clean, so she doubted he'd produced the elaborate meal.

She dressed in a simple cotton frock, fitted to a flare and sporting little capped sleeves. Outside, Draco was engaged in spirited conversation with a muggle man and woman. At the sound of the caravan door, he waved her over. "Mother. This is James Chester and his wife Lynne. Lynne left you the delicious breakfast."

The smile came easy and felt real. "Thank you so very much, Lynne. It was wonderful!"

Lynne was as petite as Narcissa if a bit more plump. And old enough for a head of silvery white hair. She smiled in return, but the smile fell rather quickly. "Oh you dear love! Whatever happened to your face?"

"Oh!" Cissa's hand clapped over the slow fading bruise. Slightly panicked eyes flitted to her son. Muggles were frighteningly forward.

"We were in an accident," Draco explained. "Our car. That's why we walked here yesterday."

"Oh my." Lynne tutted. She took in the fresh bruises on Narcissa's elbows and legs with a motherly eye. "You poor dear. Well, if you need any ointments I've enough to ease a horse. You just come see me."

Narcissa couldn't wrap her mind around muggle ointments. "Thank you again."

The Chesters left, kindly reminding the Malfoys of the pig roast in a few days and that they would be terribly remiss by not being there. Draco (obviously not thinking) promised their attendance and bade the couple a good day. He turned to Narcissa. "What the hell happened to you?" He reached for her arm.

She watched him gentle the appendage, almost felt as if it was no longer a part of her, but something that belonged to him. "The stupid tiny lav." When his fingers brushed the inside of her elbow, she jumped. "Ah!"

He let her go guiltily. "Sorry."

She read into his pinkening ears. "Did you sleep well?"

His pink ears spread to encompass his face and deepened to fuschia. "Yeah. I did." He turned back to the caravan.

Narcissa smiled just slightly. Perhaps she hadn't been dreaming.

They lazed. During the warmest part of the day, they read beneath their awning. Narcissa had chosen _Can You Keep a Secret? _The novel was hardly secretive. Muggles wrote of their sexual exploits with great exaggeration. During a particularly steamy enounter between Latin Rafe and French Maude, she had to close the book. _No one really makes love like that._

"Good book?" Her son read in a hammock stretching from the caravan to a thick stake. His linen-clad leg pushed him to a fro slowly. She shrugged. "Must be exciting."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you twirl your hair faster and suck on your lip every once in a while."

_I do? _She slid the incriminating book between her hip and the lounge. "It has its moments."

"Perhaps I'll read yours next." He commented. "Mine's a bit slow."

"Mine won't interest you." She walked toward him, adjusted his book so she could read the title. _Hand Stories: History, Science and Myth of Palmistry. _"Palmistry?" She looked down at his hooded eyes. He was staring up at her. "Longing for old Trelawney's classes?"

He chuckled. "I thought it would be more interesting. Muggles are as boring as wizards are, it seems."

She thought of her book and raised a brow. "Oh, I don't know."

He sat up suddenly in the hammock, swinging his legs over until one came to rest between hers. "Let's see," he said. He took her wrist, turned her palm up. "Look here. You've a very prominent line of head." His finger slid firmly up the middle of her hand and Narcissa felt her stomach twirl. "Means you're an intellect. And very pragmatic." He glanced up. "I agree with that summary whole heartedly." He turned her hand awkwardly.

"Ow!" She resisted, wrist complaining.

So instead he tugged. "Sit." The hammock dipped, pressing their hips together. He pulled the book onto his lap and scanned a page. "Yes. This line is your line of affection." His thumb rolled across her palm and he studied. "See. A little line for a marriage and a little line for a child and a little line for…"

"For what?" Suddenly this was very fascinating.

He shook his head. "Another little branch. Maybe for another marriage."

"I hardly want two husbands. One is more than I want now."

Absently, Draco stroked the little branch. "Well. Perhaps it's a new relationship."

"Hmmm." She leaned in closer. Knew her hair brushed his ear. "What's the curved one here?"

"Life." Another rub, circling her thumb. "Yours is long and well-defined. You'll live long and be healthy."

"I like that." she moved his hand so she could see her own palm. His fingers curled around hers. "What's this very wonky one? I've always thought it was strange."

"That's your heart line."

"What does it mean?"

He traced the line in question. "It's about emotion. Passion."

Her heart seemed to beat faster at the touch. "Sad." She frowned. "It seems very thin."

"Deep," Draco corrected. "And no branches until the end here. As if you've been hiding your feelings."

"Does your book make that speculation?"

"No. I do."

"I see." She slid her hand from his focus and took his own. Let her nail tickle his palm. She heard his breath hitch. "Yours seems rather deep, too. And only the one branch here. What are you hiding, Draco?"

"Nothing." He took his hand back. Flexed it as though it tingled. She made to take the book from his lap but he grabbed at it quickly. "Don't!"

So she let it go. Again he reddened. She wiggled to the edge of the hammock and stood. It seemed he _was_ hiding something - but not in his palm. "Thank you for the reading, oh divine one." She sunk back into her lounge. Back to the acrobatic exploits of Rafe and Maude. Her heart line still humming.

After a moment's silence Draco rose and entered the caravan quickly. She heard the noisy lock schuck on the lavatory door. Her secret smile deepened.

**AN:** Yes, I know I have two works in progress. No, I have not abandoned them. But Valentine's Day is approaching, and I need to make it bearable with steamy hot Narco decorated pink and red and bloody. It will get squicky and not for the squeamish, but gods it's worth it... It is complete and the final chapter of three will go up on the auspicious day.


	2. Blood Offering

*If you have issues with **blood, incest and menstruation **(yes, menstruation), you should most **definitely** skip this chapter. Actually, you should probably skip the rest of this fic. **Please** do not be offended by content as I have uncharacteristically warned you. I despise disclaimers, but I will make an exception for this piece as it is questionable even for me. And that's saying a lot.

Blood Offering

Narcissa adapted. Within days she and Draco could move seamlessly about their tiny caravan, the confines no longer a challenge. In fact if anything they were even more graceful together due to necessity. At times, they moved about each other like dancers, arms raising, heads ducking, feet stepping lithely.

They spent a great deal of time outdoors anyway, reading beneath their awning, chatting amiably with muggle neighbours, napping in the hammock. In fact often, Narcissa left Draco to sleep in the hammock at night, covering him tenderly before retiring to their bed. But always, when she woke in the mornings, it was with her son pressed to her back or coiled around her like the snake he was.

This particular morning, the morning all coalesced, she woke with a singular sensation - a long dormant throbbing in the most feminine part of her. Reason was often slow in the morning's laze, but today it was a most immediate summation: a hand - slender and masculine - cupped quite firmly her nearly nude breast, and an erection - lengthy and promising - stretched up the small of her back.

She bit her lip. Squeezed her eyes closed and her thighs together and attempted to stifle a moan. _Insanely inappropriate. He's my son. And so very young. And sleeping. He doesn't even realise -_

The masculine hand flexed slightly, encouraged perhaps by some dream, scuffed her nipple into hardness. Her brain ceased to produce sense and her cunt acquired control. _Oh, goddess I want him. _The flood of hot wet bespoke the base and unseemly desire. Instinctively she shifted and he answered.

"Mmm." A deep dragonly rumble. Steamy breath back of her neck and the scrape of teeth.

"Hell," she hissed.

_Not now, witch. _A voice inside her darkness spoke with certainty. _Not yet._

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and staggered to her feet. She felt lightheaded with lust. Steadied herself against the table. Took deep breaths. She slid the kettle to a burner and adjusted the proper knobs. While the kettle took to heat, she took to the lavatory. Her morning was further befuddled by the arrival of her monthly cycle. "Damn," she muttered. _Explains the wetness this morning. And the wantonness… _

After a brief struggle with the awkward and clumsy muggle hygiene products, she emerged more in control of her faculties.

In the bed, Draco stirred. "Mum?"

She wondered how conscious he'd been… "Good morning. Making tea."

He sat up. She adjusted her eyes to avoid the slim sinew of his form. "Sounds nice." She heard him rifling through drawers and finally saw the cool blue linen sluice fluidly up and over his broad shoulders. _Obviously not terribly conscious. Good._

"Sleep well?"

The tightness - the invitation - between her legs had not abated. She attempted to ignore it with a smile. "I did. You?"

He yawned. "Yeah, yeah. Bit of an odd dream this morning." Then his cheeks pinkened brightly and she saw he'd spoken despite himself.

"Oh?" He shook his head. She poured the tea. sat across from him. "Bad dream?"

"No. Yes!" His ears pinkened, too. "Doesn't matter." His forehead was creased. "Mother…" As if reminding himself.

Her lips pursed. "Draco."

But nothing more. He drained his tea. Stood. "The pig roast is tonight. Shall we go?" He stretched, pressing palms flat to the ceiling. She avoided the exposed taut stomach.

"I rather fancy roast pig."

He looked down at her. "Should be interesting." Things unspoken swirled in his bright blue eyes. He would not be the one to speak the things. "I'm going to take the laundry to the wash."

She read into this. He wanted to be alone. It almost stung. "Thank you." Inevitably, they would use cleaning charms on their clothes and such, but attempted to fit in with their muggle environ. And she suspected Draco enjoyed the novelty of watching their laundry tumble about in that strange machine.

He bustled about gathering bits from the lav. With little space, attire ended up in odd places. He shoved all into the mesh bag hanging by the door. Paused beside her. "Um...shall I take this?"

His finger slipped swiftly beneath the strap of her satin gown, lifted and dropped it back to now-goosefleshed skin. She swallowed thickly. Had forgotten to don her dressing gown. Her chest flushed. "No," she managed. "I'll take care of it later." The surface of her tea shimmered.

The door of the caravan clicked shut and she released a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Her shoulder burned where his touch had grazed it. _He'll serve you well, _the darkness drawled. _Very well indeed._

Draco returned with wet laundry and news. He broke it to his mother gently while they hung clothes on their line together, waving at passing neighbours. "So...the pig roast tonight is a pot luck."

"A what?" Narcissa mumbled around a clothes pin.

"A pot luck," Draco repeated. "We cook something and bring it with."

Narcissa stopped mid hang, one hand holding a sheet corner up and the other propped on a hip. "Where exactly is the luck in this arrangement?" She wasn't truly angry, but her current mood strained joviality. Menstruation had her irritable, needy, emotional. And horny. Being female could be such a disgusting inconvenience at times...and a constant paradox.

He shrugged. Hid a grin. "I suppose we're all lucky to have such a fine feast?"

Her mouth worked slight frustration. "Draco. What am I supposed to cook? Our oven barely fits a fish cake."

"I suppose you could make some...mini muffins?" He looked nostalgic. "Cauldron cakes would be good. Mmmm. With cinnamon." He pinned up the sheet she held.

She couldn't help feeling charmed that he missed her magical cooking. She missed it, as well. Missed her incredible kitchen… Sighed. "Well. I suppose I should get started on… mini muffins, then."

Draco let the grin escape. "I'll finish this up and help you."

If it was difficult navigating the caravan's kitchen alone, navigating it with two was virtually impossible. Draco had acquired the mix and pan from the camp shop. He took mixing station at the table with a large bowl and spoon. Narcissa dipped the batter into the pan and slipped it into the oven with barely a turn.

"I do miss my kitchen," she confessed at the sink. "And the elf." Her fingers were pruned by dishwater despite her frequent wand waving.

Draco seemed pensive. "Do you want to go home?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. _I trust you. _"I've been leaving that decision to you." Another drying charm. He began another bowl of batter, milk splashing onto the table. "You haven't mentioned any plans."

"I'm afraid father will kill you."

She blinked. "Oh." Tucked her wand into her skirt's deep pocket. "Do you think it may come to that?"

"He did hit you."

"He'd never hit me before." _Am I defending Lucius? _

"He's never been this way before." Draco waved his own wand, tidying the mess he'd made. "And he becomes more controlling every day."

_True. _"Then what shall we do? Talk to him?"

"We've both tried that, mother." Draco rubbed at his forehead. "I don't know what to do yet."

_Go on,_ the darkness urged. _Just say it. See what happens. _Narcissa smirked. "I suppose we could always kill him." She chuffed a wry laugh to soften the ire. Gauging.

Draco did _not_ laugh. "I don't think I could do that."

_Oh, I'm sure you could,_ the darkness cooed. _For me… _Cissa ruffled his hair. "A lark, son. Just a lark." She took the spoon and began dipping more muffins. "We'll know what to do soon enough."

Draco was quiet for the rest of their afternoon.

Not at all quiet was the muggle pig roast. Even before the Malfoys left their caravan they heard the ruckus of the gathering. There was a barbecue near the camp offices. An inordinate number of men were gathered there, hands wrapped around pints and large cans of lager.

The women, it seemed, were more content to lull in a cluster of lounge chairs a few yards away. Electric lighting hummed, and a table was set up for card games. Narcissa and Draco were greeted warmly. The youngest people in the camp, they stood out against the sea of retirees, but were no less appreciated.

Narcissa's muffins fit fine on the feast table alongside strange casseroles, questionable cakes, meat pies and vegetables of odd origins. And under the barbecue, the pig turned on its spit. Draco drank lager. Took the good natured ribbing of the older muggle men. Watched the pig crackle and cook.

Narcissa tried to interest herself in the bridge game, tried to distract herself from the image of her son in the embers' orange glow. The muggle women clucked like peahens. They gossiped and asked questions Narcissa had no intentions of answering honestly, shared information about themselves she could hardly be concerned with.

"Where are you and your boy from? John and I are originally from Leeds, you know. We moved to Cardiff five years ago for the weather."

"What brings you here? Odd to see someone without their own caravan here. Have you thought about buying? We've a man out of Royston we deal with."

"How old is he? Looks about my boy's age when he joined up the service."

"Where did he go to school? I've a grandson in Eton, you know."

"Are you divorced? My second marriage was so much better than my first."

"Oh, aye? How was your third?" And then they laughed like mad women.

Narcissa demured gracefully. Bowed from their questions and diverted attention as best she could. If they were put off by her behaviour, they hardly showed it. If anything, they were kind. And she had to confess, their cooking was quite good - better than her rather dry box mix muffins.

She also had to confess the pig was delicious. They pulled the pork hot and steaming, cut it into chops, slapped it between slabs of homemade bread. There was a spirited sauce contest, but one would be hard pressed to declare a winner. The spices and flavours were enticing, waking taste buds the Malfoys didn't know they had.

When Draco finally made his way to his mother's place at the table it was late. He was tipsy, cheeks pink and hair ruffled. "That's a good bloody pig," he said jovially.

"Draco! Watch your language." Her discipline was half-hearted. She was happy to see him happy.

"Narcissa." He drawled, leaning into her space. "You watch _your_ language."

She pressed fingers to his lips. "You're drunk."

"You're sober."

She chuckled. The gathering was beginning to disperse. "We should go home."

"Back to Malfoy Manor?"

"No." She stood and steadied him. "Our real home. Come on. I'll see to it you don't trip in any post holes."

"Bloody post holes."

"Language, Draco…" They bade goodnights to their muggle associates and meandered back to their camp. "I enjoyed the pig roast," she told him, putting the kettle on.

"I've gained ten pounds." He obviously agreed with her surmise. "And whatever that fluffy cake was with the coconut on was simply...magical." He hiccoughed. "Thank you for making the muffins."

"They were dry."

"They were delicious. Besides everyone was sotted so I doubt they noticed." She set his tea before him. "Thanks. The Chester woman - what was her name?"

"Lynne."

"Yes, Lynne. Did you try her blood pudding?"

"I did not." She stirred her tea. Thinking about blood at the moment was rather off putting.

"It was incredible. Better even than at Hogwarts." His head rolled back onto the seat cushion. "I miss that damn pudding…" His eyes closed. He was near sleeping.

Narcissa did not notice. She was busy focusing on what he'd said. The darkness had honed in on a weakness, one that could be used to her advantage. _Blood pudding indeed…_

"Draco?" She stood, stroked his cheek. "Come. Let's get you to bed."

He stood, steadied himself with a hand against the ceiling and an arm around her waist. "Coming with me?"

"I'll be along in a moment." She tugged his shoes off, maneuvered his legs onto the bed. She helped him off with his trousers and he chuckled. "What?"

"Do I get to undress you next?" She froze. Felt his fingers stroke her bare back above her sundress' hem. "Like all the muggle men were in their heads tonight? Staring at you."

"Don't be silly," she whispered.

"I'm not. You were showing a hint of cleavage, I suppose."

"Don't mind my cleavage." He was drunk. Rambling. Slurring.

"I don't mind your cleavage at all...Narcissa." Drunk, rambling and slurring, but honest. She looked down at his grin, bent across him for his discarded shirt. She was aware she was pressing said cleavage into his face. He licked his lips.

"Good night, Draco." He was already asleep. When she stepped away, she realised his hand wrapped loosely around her calf.

In the tiny lav, she leaned against the sink/shower. She wiped the mirror and studied her face. _So close now…_ She knew what she had to do.

Sighing heavily, she stripped. Took a cup from the shelf above the toilet and sat. She looked away as she spread her legs. The cup's lip was cool and strange against her hot and sticky core. But there was fresh flow at least, and the fluid was hot and bright red. _Not too much. _She pulled the cup away and measured the amount, held it in a shaft of moonlight. _Waxing moon. Perfect. _She washed her hands and prepared to redress. She had some work to do.

Yes, being a female could be inconvenient at times, but being a witch could be down right dirty...

The camp was quiet. The witch made her way to the woodline by light of star and moon, black cloak shimmering silver. She moved with purpose and grace, not knowing a destination but knowing the goddess would provide. She had no altar here at the caravan camp, but the forest had altars plenty.

She found a rather large oak gnarled by age and nature. It grew at an angle, nearly felled in its youth and adapting - as she had. It seemed appropriate for her ends. She knelt at it, roots and detritus biting into her bare knees. The night air was pleasant, so she let her cloak fall beneath her arse.

She drew from its charmed folds two candles - one black and one red. A bit of sage. A crumbly clump of dragon's blood. The only real plate in the caravan - a left behind tea saucer with periwinkle print. She pulled her wand and set her makeshift incense to burn. Then carefully, she placed the most important ingredient amongst the smoke: the plastic cup containing her own red essence.

With muggle table salt, she cast her circle. She hated hurrying, but would have much to answer for were she discovered. Breath quick, she prayed.

"Goddess bless this humble offering, both to you and my purpose. From the stomach that was his home to his stomach, make my blood strong and quick. Let it lend him into my service, into my sense. Let him learn my control. Let him love my love. Let him love my lust. Grant me the power to feed him my influence through my essence." She extinguished her candles briskly. Left them. Let the forest have its altar. She may have need of it again. "So mote it be," she whispered.

She hurried back to camp, feet light, buoyed by magic. Deposited her precious cargo in the miniature refrigerator and bathed. Draco was sprawled across their bed. She wriggled into the crook of his arm and slept, internal clock set to wake early. She had to cook, after all.

Draco woke predictably late. He grumbled into the kitchen with squinted eyes. "Good morning," she chirped.

"Ungh." He flopped down to the table. "Muggle lager is a cunt on earth."

"Language." She set a tea before him, and a hangover potion.

He looked at the potion, then at her. His eyes revered her as a goddess. "You brewed this?"

She smiled, then turned back to her mixing. "Yes. I've been quite busy this morning. I went to see Mr. Thwackett at his shop to get some things I needed - he sent those cookies, by the way - and I've been cooking ever since."

"Cooking what?"

"Oh, this and that." She glanced at him over a shoulder. Knew there was coy in her eyes. "I thought I'd try my hand at Lynne Chester's blood pudding, since you liked it so."

"You're wonderful."

"I know."

He downed the headache potion and started on the tea. Suspicion lingered. "What's the occasion?"

"Need there be an occasion for me to cook something for my loving son?"

He narrowed eyes at her. "I thought you might be angry about my drinking last night."

She shrugged. "It was a party."

"I hope I didn't say anything stupid."

"Not at all." She slid the pudding into the oven. Had to remove the second rack to fit it. "Well. That has a while to cook. Shall we read?"

They retired to the comfort of their awning. Narcissa had found a book of muggle poetry. It was far better than the horrid romance novels. She was considering a particularly daunting line when Draco coughed abruptly. She looked up to see him shifting uncomfortably in his hammock. "Alright?"

"Mm." He rubbed at his face. "Muggles don't leave much to the imagination in their writings, do they?"

She glanced at his book and chuckled. "Oh, that one. Shall I spoil the end for you? He leaves his sullen, obese wife for the thin, sexually adventurous mistress."

Draco laughed and tossed the book aside. "I suspected as much. She certainly is adventurous." He lay back and looked at her. "What are you reading, then? Your lips have been moving this whole time."

The pudding in the oven was beginning to waft its magical scent. Narcissa blinked slowly at her son. _He's watching my lips again. _"It's a poem."

"Read it."

She smiled. Cleared her throat, and began.

_"Now let us sport us while we may;_

_And now, like am'rous birds of prey,_

_Rather at once our time devour,_

_Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power._

_Let us roll all our strength, and all_

_Our sweetness, up into one ball;_

_And tear our pleasures with rough strife_

_Thorough the iron gates of life._

_Thus, though we cannot make our sun_

_Stand still, yet we will make him run."_

She looked up to see Draco gazing at her with hooded eyes. "A muggle wrote that?"

"Yes."

"It's quite good."

"I think so." She went back to her reading quietly.

"Is sex all they think about?"

This time, she tilted her head back and laughed brightly. She wasn't exactly surprised Draco had picked up on the metaphor, knew he was a quick study. But she was rather surprised he'd mentioned it. "It seems that way, doesn't it." She closed the book and regarded him. _Push him_, the darkness said.

"Do you think about sex?"

He considered. Lips working. "Of course I do."

"Hmmm." Absently she rubbed at her chest, the dip in her bosom. "Missing some young witch?"

"No." He was quick to reply. Certain. "Not at all." Tit was for tat, it seemed. "Do you?"

"Not particularly. But then I never really experimented with witches. I mean, not beyond dormitory spin the butterbeer."

"I wasn't talking about young witches," he admonished. "Though we may have to revisit that particular confession later. I was asking if you think about sex?"

"Odd thing to ask your mother."

"You asked your son, first."

_True. _"It was just a curiosity." She said no more. He let it drop.

"Pudding smells good." His eyes were dark.

"Hungry?"

"Very."

Her mouth was dry. "I'll check it, then. And make some tea." As she climbed the two steps into their caravan, she felt his fingers brush her leg, catch on the hem of her skirt. She looked down to see his eyes closed and his lips smiling slightly. _Perhaps the pudding wasn't necessary…_

She scowled when she pulled the bubbling bowl from the oven. It didn't seem to have risen the way Lynne's had. But at least it was solid on the top. And it did smell good. Draco certainly seemed eager for it, already seated to the table with a paper plate held toward her. She shooed his eagerness away gently and turned the pudding. She intended to do this properly.

It fell just a bit. Crumbled a little on the edges, but otherwise solidified properly. It was still steaming when she cut into it. "Green beans?" She offered.

Draco curled a lip at the beans, clearly disinterested. "No."

She sat at her own serving, taking some mash and beans for herself. Mostly, she watched Draco.

He blew a little on his first bite, too eager to let it cool. Narcissa's shoulders tensed. A fork laden with beans paused before her mouth. She didn't breathe.

Draco chewed slowly. Thoughtfully. His eyes closed. He swallowed and she bit at her lip. He knew she was waiting. He made her wait. Wiped at his mouth daintily with his serviette. Took a sip of wine from a plastic cup. Smacked his lips.

"Draco?"

He looked up as though he'd forgotten she was there. "Yes?"

She tisked. "How is it?"

He smiled at her. Let his eyes show her his honesty. "It's amazing, mum. Better than Lynne Chester's."

She didn't believe _that_, but what really mattered was he was eating it. She took her own bite, not above her own magic. She shrugged. "It's not bad."

Draco reached across the little table for her hand. "Thank you, mum."

She caressed his open fingers. His eyes fell to their touch. "You're welcome."

The pudding was quite good, actually. Narcissa had two small helpings. Draco ate the rest. His gaze followed her about the tiny kitchen as she bustled, tidying up, swishing her wand and maneuvering cutlery.

There was a lazy, tired look about him. His eyes were a bit glazed. When she leaned across him for the final plate, he stroked her side idly. "I'm tired."

She dropped the plate into the sink and stroked his cheek. "Go to bed, then."

"Come with me."

She blinked. _Can it be working already? _"I need to tidy -"

"I'll take care of it for you in the morning. I promise." His hand rose, hesitated at her hip. It wanted to touch. His fingers curled into a fist. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his brow. "It's easier to sleep when you're beside me."

She considered. His unfocused stare never wavered. "Very well then," she whispered. Let him pull her along. A flick of his wand plunged the caravan into darkness.

Draco slept with a frightful restlessness. Occasionally, he muttered in his sleep. Grunted or cried out. Narcissa sat up beside him, back pressed to the padded wall by the window. She watched with worry. Had her spell been too strong? Had she used too much of her own blood? It had seemed most mild compared to the mad magics her sister Bellatrix had crafted, the wild spellwork of their mother Druella. Narcissa had learned from the finest witches.

And now she watched firsthand her affects. Draco sweat. He pawed at the bedding, clutched fingers in sheets. His fingers flustered at his groin, occasionally grasped the hard protrusion in his sleep pants. She knew he suffered now, knew she would pay a hard price for this. But when he hissed her name in the swelter of some fantasy, her guilt blossomed into hothouse desire and she dripped nectar like the blossom beckoning the bee.

It was difficult to sleep beside him. He tossed too much. And she feared the spell would overwhelm his sense completely, ruining her best laid plans. So she slept on the cushions in the kitchen, waited for her son to awaken. Wondered what her spell might reap.

"Mother."

Her eyes snapped open to a vision of magnified brocade. The periwinkle of her cushion bed was blinding in the morning light. She sat up quickly, bumped her shoulder on the table. "Ouch."

Draco rubbed the red scrape. "Why did you sleep here?"

She smiled. He looked well enough. "I had a bout of insomnia last night," she lied smoothly. "Did you sleep well?"

He was quiet for an unsettling moment. Scanning her face. He reached out and touched the fine hair falling against her face. "I had...dreams."

She swallowed when his fingertips brushed her face. "Bad dreams?"

His hand fell to his side. The fingers clenched shut. "No." He turned away abruptly, leaned on the sink. "Shall I make us tea?"

Narcissa stood, stretched. Yawned. "I'll make it." She squeezed past him, belly brushing across his bottom, and reached for the kettle. She gasped when his hand clamped onto her arm. "Draco!"

He pulled her. The strength was so bottled, so taut, threatening to break free of his obvious control. His arms twitched beneath the skin. She saw his faded Dark Mark flex. "I'm sorry," he whispered wetly.

But his body didn't seem sorry in the least. It pressed her between the sink and itself. His hands made no apologies for touching her. Groping her. Everything he could reach he squeezed, including her tender breasts which elicited a yelp. "So sorry," he murmured again.

But his tongue wasn't sorry sweeping her mouth. His fingers were unapologetic tilting her head back, tugging her hair. "Draco," she moaned. Her body shuddered. Hands fought at his hands, but not to win. She surrendered.

"I have to have you," he informed her. His eyes were nearly black as he lifted her onto the counter. She nearly tipped into the sink were it not for his arm round the small of her back. "I can't fight this."

"Don't." she gentled his head to kiss him. Scratched nails up his neck, against his scalp. He growled into her chest, nipped soft flesh through thin nightgown. She hissed. "Don't fight it. Ah!" His hand tore easily the strap of her gown and he was avidly cupping and sucking the exposed breast. Nips turned to bites and the witch wrapped him in her legs. "Oh, gods Draco."

Her head hit the window. One of her hands - seeking purchase behind her - hit the muggle faucet and a jet of water attempted to cool their lust. It was not successful. Draco's sinful mouth traveled down her torso. He knelt - still easily able to reach every part of her. Insistent, he tugged at her knickers. The water pressure increased when Narcissa leaned on the faucet, boosting up to aid her son.

She felt the scrape of teeth on her inner thigh and suddenly remembered, tensing. "Wait. Draco, I'm -"

"I know." His lips traveled higher. "I can smell you."

She pressed Her other hand against his head, awkwardly attempting to stop him. "Don't! Draco, it's -"

"I need to taste it."

"Oh!" His mouth wreaked havoc on her core. Cunt constricted around an eager tongue. "Dracodarlingmydragon," she babbled. Menses over sensitised her, set her on edge. Her heels dug into Draco's hips and back. "So good…"

He drank her, an angry vampire inciting her lust. Moaning his decadent pleasure. Only when he'd collected all of the hot sticky essence there was in her did he rise. His purpose was obvious in his eyes. He would take her.

Narcissa's body shook with shock, excitement, anticipation and the trill of power. Together they easily maneuvered Draco's sleep pants. His erection sprung free purple and demanding. She stroked him, suddenly realising he was no boy any longer. "Draco."

But he kissed her. Hushed her. She tasted iron and ire in his mouth. He maneuvered her easily, hooking creamy knees over his elbows and opening her wide. They both looked down, somehow compelled to watch the slide of his length into her red and swollen tissue.

"Oh, goddess!" It was a supplication and a curse. Her head rattled the little window over the sink.

"You're the only goddess I know," Draco told her hotly. He wasn't gentle. Her arse - wet with the sink's splash - squeaked across the tile with every punishing thrust and Draco spoke. "It was you in my dreams, mother. Where I fucked you." She cried out with every thrust and he finally clamped a hand over her mouth, had to muffle his own high whine in her neck. "It felt so good there and it feels even better now. Oh, Hell Narcissa you feel so fucking good."

She bit at his palm. Her way of telling him without words that he, too, felt that good. Better, in fact. She'd forgotten the pleasure. Her eyes rolled as her son enjoyed her. He tugged at her nipple with his teeth, let it shake into his mouth on each thrust. He was close to the precipice and took the tightening of her cunt to mean the same.

"Can you come for me, mum?" His words were steam in her ear. "Please?"

He needn't have asked politely. She was wound like a tinker toy. Turned her head from his hand. "Yes. Harder!"

He complied. Hands grasping her arse and depositing her swiftly on the slightly lower table top. "Hold me," he gasped.

Narcissa wrapped her legs high around him, squeezed until her ankles crossed. Her teeth sank into Draco's bare shoulder and she rode out the hard onslaught of his want. He gripped the edge of the table over her head, finding better stability in that surface than in her wet slippery back. He pounded her properly, aware the caravan was possibly shaking with his force.

His bollocks swelled to a hurt. "Goddammit, come witch." He growled. Licked the salty line of sweat from her clavicle to her ear.

He may have been hers to command, but she obeyed his order. Screamed as her body seized impossibly. The sensation was intense, heating in her belly and pouring molten up her spine.

"Hell, yes Narcissa! Ungh! Ugh!" He felt her milking him and let go, nearly breaking the table from its moorings on his last thrusts. Even spent, some programming in him demanded his hips still move. As if even softening he could still fuck her.

Narcissa's legs shook uncontrollably as she lowered them. Her toes touched the floor and her fingertips touched Draco's back. His head was buried by her neck, forehead to the table. She licked her dry lips. "Draco?" Hoarse from her lusty proclamations.

He stilled at last. "Mmmm." Kissed his way up her jaw and cradled her head. "Don't show me regret," he whispered. "When I open my eyes, I don't want to see you hate me."

"Never." She gentled his face with her own hands. "No regrets, lovie." She kissed his chin and met his eyes. They were wet and shiny. "Let me up now."

He slipped out of her. Blood dripped. He helped her sit up on the table's edge. Steadied her with hands on her hips. Narcissa rubbed his stiff arms. They were quivering like her own muscles. She took his hand, gasped when she saw the blood there. "Oh!"

There was nothing about to clean them with. She held the hand and looked about. "We - we shall bathe," she said quickly.

"Shhh." Draco soothed her. The bloody fingers touched her face. Slid over her jaw to her lips. "Just what makes you a witch," he whispered. "My witch." Fingers still poised at her lips, he kissed her. Coaxed her tongue to meet his own, to lap at the blood there together. "And even sweeter on your lips."

He stepped away. Pulled her into an embrace on her unsteady legs. "Come. Let's have that bath. I want to worship all your inches uncovered." His red-stained cock already rose, promising to deliver her more pleasure. Draco twisted, turned the faucet off briskly and they both took in the kitchen.

Blood dripped from the sink, the table top. Dotted the floor. Narcissa blushed and Draco smiled at her. "We've wands," he said. "We'll clean it later." She looked back at the mess only once as he pushed her into the lavatory - her blood offering accepted by the goddess, demanded by the dragon.

**AN:** Well. If you're still with me, thanks for reading. Sicko. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am. The poem Narcissa reads from is _To His Coy Mistress _by Andrew Marvell. Special thanks to all my reviewers - you're so awesome.


	3. Cupid's Due

Happy Valentine's Day, Dahlings! (Major disclaimer. This gets very...vividly violent. And psycho-sexual. Romance!)

Cupid's Due

The combination of Draco and her magic made for an insatiable lover. Narcissa hadn't quite expected things to happen so quickly - or so often. As soon as they'd stepped into the tiny shower together, Draco had become her acolyte. True to his word, he soaped and worshiped every inch of her. She was over-sensitive from their first encounter, not to mention somewhat sore. So he was gentle in his explorations oral and tactile - to a degree. Once the sleeping dragon was awakened, it seemed, it could only be soothed with sex.

She bent out of the shower and held onto the toilet as he fucked her from behind. He slowed and watched the slide of his cock within her ruby painted walls. Narcissa tolerated any discomfort, softened by the pleasure that tempered the pain. Her boy made her come, and that made her happy.

He was the perfect length for her, as if manufactured specifically to satisfy her. Customised. His curious fingers grew bolder with her every solicitation, and she was quite vocal indeed. "Touch me, darling," she hissed.

"Like this?" His fingers stretched easily to her constricting cunt. He v'd them around their joining, palm pressing to her clit with each thrust and fingertips feathering her stretched slit.

"Oh, fuck yes," she breathed. Moaned. "So bloody good, Draco."

He watched her red coat his shaft. It gleamed in the morning glow through their tiny lavatory window. "Agreed. Mmm." He reached for a shaking breast, squeezed it. Thumb-flicked an engorged nipple. "Gods, mum. Perfect. Come on my cock. I want to feel it."

"Draco!" She tossed her head, body tensing. He caught a handful of her hair. "Ah!"

He pulled. "Look at me, witch."

Over her shoulder, past his straining arm, she met his eyes. They were black and thinned, wanting only to see her release. Voice straining over her arced neck, she delivered what he sought and came. Her body snapped taut. Milked him mercilessly.

Draco crumbled under the weight of pleasure. He folded over her back, released her hair and held her closer than his own skin as he pumped hot seed into her. "Ooooohhhh." He groaned, grunted into her nape. "Bloody hell…"

He kissed her neck. She turned awkwardly to meet his lips and pushed up, back beginning to complain about their angle. Draco helped her stand. "Alright, mum?"

She smiled tiredly and blew at her errant fringe. "I'm fine. My back…"

"Let's have a lie down." He rubbed her shoulders. "I'll give you a massage."

She stepped out of the shower, made a regretful moue at the new mess Draco's retreating cock had left on her thigh. Standing straight at last, she had leakage to deal with, as well. "Oh!" She reddened. Embarrassed at the fluid.

"It's alright, mother." Draco boldly reached between her legs. Wiped his fingers across her sensitive cunt and raised the digits to show her. "It's us. Together." The fingers were pink with a mixture of his cum and her blood. He licked it, eyes never leaving hers. "Addictive."

Narcissa stared at him in wonder for a moment. It was almost frightening, this monster she'd created. Frightening even to herself how deeply affecting her magic was. She knew he was in her grasp now. Solidly. Hers to mold. She reached for his face. "Kiss me."

He did, biting at her lips. Their tongues lingered lewdly. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers. "I'm exhausted."

She chuckled. "Just now?" She reached into the shower stall for the flannel they'd shared, wiped herself and him thoroughly. "Let's have that lie down."

Cleaned (for the moment) and tired, they lounged on their bed. Draco delivered his promised massage. Opened their windows to the last of the summer breezes. He propped on one elbow, watching his scantily clad mother twist beneath his teasing touches.

"Are we sick?" He asked, massaging a breast.

"Mmmm. Probably. But all the best purebloods are." Lazily, she plucked the hand from her breast and sucked at the fingers.

Draco watched her with pure adoration. "Did I please you?"

"Yes." She kissed him sweetly. "I'm more than pleased, Draco. I've wanted this for some time."

"Me, too!" He brightened. Childish joy lit his sharp features. "But I never imagined…" He gestured between them.

She was curious. Turned onto her elbow to face him. "Draco." _Don't move things too quickly, witch. _She rubbed his chest, let a lazy finger trace down, down the the thin trail of fine, white hair to capture his full attention. "If...If I wanted to go home...would you come with me?"

His forehead creased, but predictably he acceded. "I suppose." He looked at her sadly. "Are you unhappy here, mother?"

She smiled the smile of worship. "I have never been happier, love. I just...know that sooner or later we will have to leave." A shrug. "The season draws to a close, after all."

It was true. Already the evenings were growing chilly and most campers had departed for their noisy homes in the cities.

Draco nuzzled her chest. Curled tiredly into her embrace. "I could stay here forever with you." He kissed her neck. "Besides. There's still father to contend with."

"Hmmm. You're right," Narcissa breathed, relaxing into his sweet coercion. "I suppose we do have to decide what to do with him."

Draco stilled. He looked up at her. A shadow crossed his steely eyes. "I would do anything for you, mother. Anything you want."

She smiled the smile of victory. Took him into her willing thighs. "And I would do the same for you, darling." _Very good._

Indeed the season did change. Summer turned quickly to autumn. The Malfoys spent their days making love mostly, and their nights doing the same. Draco was as insatiable as she'd expected him to be, and fortunately Narcissa was equally voracious. She was most pleased. He was a filthy lover and an obedient son. She could not have asked for more. Her spell had worked beyond her imaginings, it seemed.

They still socialised with the few friends remaining at the camp. September drew to a close and only a handful of caravans remained other than their permanent one. She'd come to enjoy the muggles, though conversations were generally shortened by her eager son dragging her off to a secluded somewhere...or vice versa. They'd even fucked on the forest altar; bark biting back and boy biting breast. It had been her final supplication to the goddess, her offering of gratitude. "Here is his spending for you, my goddess," she thought. "And my glory in your name."

Draco had no favourite position to speak of. He progressed like liquid through maneuvers, curious and simply joyous. As their neighbours departed, they grew louder. Bolder. They broke the hammock and the hinges on the caravan door. They were always spirited, but when she was bleeding, Draco's true animal was unleashed.

The dragon was rampant. He was the servant to her blood, it seemed. Spoiled for it. It was as though he could sense her menses. He followed her about like a pet begging for a taste - treat. She indulged him beatifically, eased through the days of her cycle by his dotage. It was a symbiotic relationship.

At September's end, Mr. Thwackett came knocking early one evening. The Malfoys froze, eyes wide as they considered options. "We should get that." Narcissa blew overlong fringe from her eyes. The hair was wet with sweat.

Beneath her Draco thrust his hips once more. "He'll go away."

"Mmm." She leaned back again. "Perhaps you're right." Draco raised a knee and she braced against it, ground her pelvis into his.

But Thwackett knocked again. "Mr. Malfoy? You home?"

"Dammit," Draco hissed. "Let me up."

Cissa growled her frustration. Sighed when her son slipped from her clutching cunt. She'd been so close…

Draco rushed into trousers and shirt, barely buttoning either. He stowed his wand in his sleeve and opened the caravan door. "Mr. Thwackett! So sorry, sir. I'm afraid I'd fallen asleep."

Narcissa heard their pleasantries until the door clicked shut. Then, muted mumblings and occasional laughter. She'd discussed with Draco the possibilities of having to Imperius the muggle once again, but worried for the man's mind. Were muggles mentally robust to withstand multiple castings? She sat on her haunches. Pulled a sheet about her nakedness and chewed her lip.

Draco blew back in moments later already stripping his attire. "Well?" She asked.

He was pushing her back on the bed, dragging away her sheet. "He's fine. We're staying on."

"Oh. Oh!" He was twisting her. "Was he upset to have us this late in the season?"

"He was concerned." Draco obviously was not concerned. "Get on your stomach," he said. "I like your arse pressing into my belly."

"Yes, love." She turned, smiling, settled her arms around a pillow. "What was his - ah!" Her breath hitched when he slid inside her. "What was his concern?"

"Mainly that we'd be cold." Draco was remarkably articulate during coitus. They often had full conversations during sex. "Not much for heating on these caravans, he says." A hand snaked beneath her, fingers searching and finding her swollen clit.

The pleasure caught up to her again. She muffled a whine in her pillow. "Doesn't know about warming charms," she gasped.

"Mph." Draco tangled his fingers in her hair, pushed it away from her neck to lay kisses and bites there. "I'd rather stay warm this way, Narcissa." He pressed her face into the cotton, loved the sound of her muffled shouts, grunts and screams. "Gods damn you're tight as a pixie's pocket, witch. Come for me!" She did - with an animal roar - and Draco was quick to follow.

Heads cleared of lust for the moment, they were able to consider Thwackett. They twined like snakes in the evening's chill, talking. "It _is _October," Narcissa said. "Perhaps we should leave the camp. I'm certain it looks dreadfully odd."

"He doesn't think anything of it," Draco insisted gently. "Well. At least not now. He thinks we've no other place to go. I told him there was a fire."

She frowned. "You don't want to go home."

Draco rubbed at his face. "No. I don't." He sighed. Tired of this discussion. "You can't tell me you want to go back to father. To being prisoners again. Being beaten like a muggle housewife?"

She shook her head. "I didn't say that."

"Aren't you happy like this?" He asked. He tightened his embrace. "I've never been happy before now, mother. And I don't want to give it up."

"Who said we have to give it up?"

Draco scoffed softly. "Right. We'll just politely explain to father that we're incestuous lovers now. I'm certain he'll understand."

She tisked. "I miss home," she admitted.

Draco stared. "Then what shall we do? I don't want to give you up. I bloody well won't. Especially not to him."

"You hate your father." She accused without malice. _Please let it be truth._

Draco's eyes darkened. Her tame dragon tensed. "And if I do?"

She stroked her thumb across his bottom lip, knew it was sensitive. "Perhaps...we could work together. Make our situation tolerable." She shrugged. "Even enjoyable."

"How?" He lifted the latch to his left, dropping a window to block the cold air.

Narcissa rose and stretched. Gathered their duvet from the floor and flapped it before settling it on the bed. "Working together we can accomplish anything, darling. Excuse me?"

Draco peeked from underneath the duvet when she disappeared into the lav. He reached out and grabbed her upon her return. Laughing at her half-hearted struggles. "Tell me what you want, mother." He settled her atop him, stroking her through her gauzy gown.

_Not just yet. _"I do want to go home someday, dragon." He nodded, looking serious. "But for now I'll settle for a cuppa."

He smiled. Their fingers tangled. "I can certainly do that."

"And then…" She rolled her hips suggestively. "I'd like to come back here and lie on my back with your head between my legs for the better part of an hour at least."

"Merlin." Draco groaned. "I can do that, too."

"Excellent." She rolled off of him quite suddenly and patted his belly. It made a hollow sound and he lurched. "Put the kettle on."

October passed and the chill grew denser. The leaves turned and fell. Samhain saw the Malfoys carve a jack-o-lantern for no one in particular. Thwackett brought them a jug of cider and Narcissa baked pumpkin pies.

Draco revelled in the celebration. It had been years since he'd known real holidays. They'd lived in the shadow of the Dark Lord for so long, holidays had fallen by the wayside.

As the evenings grew colder, the Malfoys cast more warming charms. Thwackett visited again, this time with the gift of a tiny muggle electric heater. The device took up a bit more space, but heated their caravan brilliantly. Narcissa baked him a pudding.

Yule was no exception to their new holiday celebrations. Draco had insisted on finding a tree. It was miniscule, but they decorated it just the same.

They were staring at it one evening when Narcissa mentioned home again. "Draco?"

He sighed already. It was as if he knew when she was intent to broach the subject. "Yes?"

"I wonder if you've given any more thought to when we might leave here?"

"Yes. Never." He was quick to answer.

She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Darling. I think we've languished here long enough. We've things to take care of at home." It was the firmest voice she'd ever used to speak to him, and seemed to spark a dormant program in his brain.

"Then we'll go." He turned away from her. "But after all this time, I doubt my father will be at all pleasant."

"No." Narcissa rubbed her son's back. "I imagine he'll be quite ghastly. But he's...one of those things we must take care of."

"He'll never let us live, you know. Not really."

"I know." She urged him to turn back to her. _Now, witch. Now._ She licked her lips, felt nerves tickling her tummy. "So why should _he _live?"

He looked at her, realisation dawning slowly. "What?"

"You heard me." He stared at her. His forehead creased. "_What_?" She demanded. "Is it so wrong of me? To hate him for how he's treated us? For how he treated you? How he…" She whirled away from him, reached for the door latch. _It wasn't supposed to be this way._

"Wait." He grabbed her. She was tense and he soothed her with an embrace. "Are you suggesting we…" His mouth worked the possibility before speaking it aloud. "That we kill him?"

She let her eyes burn and tear. _So much effort and patience…_ "I can see no other way. Can you?" Her gaze was hopeful on plead with her eyes for him to see her sense as he did in all other ways. He was hers, after all. She stepped against him. His nostrils flared. She knew why. Her cycle was fast approaching.

He swallowed. "How shall we do it?"

She breathed. Hadn't realised she was holding her breath. Her body thrilled victory. "I don't know yet." She fussed at his trouser buttons. "We can discuss that later." He groped her curves. Their mouths were blistering hot. The kiss was a promise, a contract signed for services to be delivered. A contract signed with blood - for blood.

They languished at the caravan camp through January. In February, it snowed, and they frolicked. Took their wands out one frosty morning and had a proper snowball fight. Thwackett had been most interested in the oddly swirling snow, and was Imperiused again for his curiosities. Poor muggle…

Over hot cocoa and a spirited snog, they decided to return to Malfoy Manor the following day. February the fourteenth. Valentine's Day. "Seems appropriate," Draco garbled.

"Mm. Does it?" Narcissa released his lip from her teeth. The sharp little white things were merciless.

He made a perfect heart shaped love bite just below her ear. "I think so. And you know your spell will work?"

"Black family witches were sure in their dabblings, darling. It will work." She undressed him. Kissing her way down his solid body.

"How many bodies did grandmother dispose of?" He hissed when she took the head of his cock in her mouth - the teasing wench.

_Pop. _"Oh…" She licked his purple swell like a lolli. "Perhaps three? Perhaps more." She dipped again and sucked him in earnest for a bit. _Pop. _"Mother was always a secretive woman." Back down she went.

"Bloody hell." Draco controlled his urge to thrust. Bumped his elbow against the table when he took hold of her hair. "Stop, Narcissa. I want to fuck you."

She chuckled around his cock but released him as bade. "Yes, darling."

They were slow in bed, taking their time. This would be one of their last evenings in the tiny caravan, and they wanted every memory available. Draco cupped his mother's face, watched her eyes intently as he moved within her. "Can this really be us forever?"

Her knees shivered, hooked high over his elbows. "Yes, Draco." Her voice was strained, pleasure-tightened. At her height, she tossed her head, pressed his face into her breasts. "Oh, goddess yes! Forever, my dragon!"

Catching their breath, Draco nuzzled her face. "You have my heart, you know," he whispered.

"I know." She stroked his sweaty back, smiling. "But it isn't _your _heart I want, lovie…"

It was storming when they returned to Malfoy Manor. Fitting. They'd managed to apparate before the worst hit, swirling to a halt just inside the imposing gates. Narcissa smiled at the sight of her home backlit by lightning and swirling clouds. _Gorgeous._

"Good to see he hasn't warded us out," Draco grumbled. "I imagine he knows we're here now."

"Certainly." Narcissa was already stalking toward the doors of her home. Determination steeled her usually soft features. Draco caught up to her. Easily matched her marching pace. They were strong together.

Even the doors were not warded, though Narcissa suspected the magic had been set to recognise just Malfoy magic. The foyer echoed a bang ominously as the heavy doors swung open, then closed with more quiet.

All was dark. Dusty. There were cobwebs high in the rafters. It looked as if the elf had been absent for as long as they had. Narcissa drew her wand for light, gestured for Draco to follow her up the stairs. On the second floor landing, there were footprints in dust. They followed only one particular trail - from study to library to Lucius' private rooms. It seemed the patriarch had led a rather restricted life since his wife and son departed.

Draco approached the study first. The door was cracked, and a red glow emanated within. Heavy mahogany complained when pushed open, as if it had stood in one position for some time. "Father?" There was some small wonder in Draco's voice.

Narcissa stepped quickly alongside him, wand still at ready. Her husband turned slowly in his swivel chair to greet them. She gasped.

"Well. Trespassers, Gitto." Lucius' voice was a rasp of sand on stone. He spoke to the elf who huddled nearby - an abused thing with one eye milky white. "I don't know them."

"Father." Draco repeated.

"Not anymore." Lucius raised a hand clutching a parchment. It seemed the hand had been clutching the parchment forever, just waiting for this moment. "Not as soon as the solicitor has this." He thrust a skeletal hand at them. "Surely you didn't think you'd simply return to my good graces? Claiming to be a son?" His black receeded eyes settled on Narcissa. "A wife?"

He stood. Still tall, but nearly a wraith in fine robes long dilapidated. Draco mused that Lucius looked like a Hogwarts ghost. He walked toward them slowly, squinting, and Draco pushed Narcissa behind himself just a bit.

"Look at you," Lucius hissed. "The prodigal whore. And her lover son." Draco blinked, unfazed, but surprised at his father's accurate accusation. He felt his mother's fingers curl in his jacket. "You think I don't know?" Lucius was very close now. Leaned into their space. Pasty patrician nostrils flared. "I can smell her...influence...on you, boy." He chuckled darkly and turned away.

"You've been made a fool, Draco. Let her feed you that filth that flows from such a sweet little cunny." He circled the pair until he faced his wife. "Isn't that right...honey?"

"Lucius," she whispered.

"Silence!" He shouted. The power in the frail man's voice was unexpected. "I suspect he drinks directly from the tap?" He stepped closer to her. Draco's arm stiffened between then. "My father warned me and I should have listened. You dirty, deceitful Black witches were the downfall of the Malfoys!" He raised his hand. His wand appeared in it.

This was the window Draco had waited for. The arm before his mother fired upward, stopped the hand that threatened to hit her. His own wand slid smoothly from his sleeve to his hand. Even Narcissa's instrument glinted in the firelight.

But no magic was necessary. As if by unspoken agreement mother and son deemed it too good for the man manic before them; the father with rage on his features, the husband once haughty now humbled.

Swift as a thought - perhaps swifter - Draco's wand fired forward. It was strong with the son's resolve, and sharpened by Black magic. It pierced skin and bone with ease, angled upward by Draco's jutting elbow.

Narcissa staggered a few steps back, out of the way of her son's mission and any arterial spray. And spray there was. On Draco's victorious shout, Lucius' chest split like a melon. It was a gush of blood. A wash of sanguine syrup that coated Draco and the defeated.

She saw their faces; Lucius' a frozen gape of shock and what she hoped was pain, Draco's…pure bloodlust. His lips curled away from teeth splattered red. He watched his father slump to the floor. Kicked him over with a boot to the shoulder.

Prone, Lucius made a gurgle in his throat. His body shuddered once, twice more before stilling completely. Eyes bulged in a swollen face. His tongue protruded, unnaturally long. The elf watched from its corner, but with its blind eye, it was difficult to know how much it had seen.

Draco stood legs apart over Lucius. Narcissa's champion. He breathed heavily, wand dripping by his side. She was quiet. Listened to his breath. Uncertainty nagged at her. How much of Lucius' poison truth would Draco believe?

Draco's neck cracked the silence as he rolled it on his shoulders. He looked at the simpering elf in the corner. "Gitto? Go to your hovel," he told it gently. In hurt or relief, the creature recognised its new master, swirled away with a pop. Draco nudged Lucius' corpse with a toe. He set about removing his murder-stained jacket. Never looking away from his dead father, he began unbuttoning his shirt next.

"Draco?" Narcissa whispered. "Darling?" Guiltily, she watched the white cotton bare each of his strong shoulders. The skin was pink in this light, healthy. The retreating shirt left a few streaks of blood here and there. He tossed the shirt into the fire casually, followed by the damning parchment Lucius had flaunted earlier.

He bent so suddenly - snapped like a string puppet - that she jumped. "Here, mother." She moved toward him, the reality of their situation congealing like a dream solidified. Only when she was close enough to touch him did she see what he held.

Aloft, like a trophy in Draco's long fingers, was Lucius' heart. Amazingly the organ still seemed to throb, just slightly, or perhaps it was Draco's excitement causing the quiver. "Is this the heart you wanted?" He asked.

Blood dripped down his arm into the crook of his elbow. It dripped from there to her dress skirt, to the floor. Narcissa met her son's steel eyes. "Yes, my love." Striped with blood, he was her warrior. She reached up, wrapped her hands around his arm and pulled it toward her. "I'm so proud of you, Draco…"

When his prize was within inches of her face, she opened her mouth. Draco hissed watching the drops hit her lips, her extending tongue. And when that same tongue touched his elbow, his knees weakened.

Narcissa licked all the way up to Draco's heart-clutching fingers. She pried at the digits, taking them one by one into her bloodied little mouth, sucking them, biting them. She tasted the iron of Lucius' irony, felt the strange structure of his organ with her taste buds. She couldn't stifle a moan and then Draco was tearing at her clothes.

Feverish, she helped him. Shed her dress like a sloughed skin. Corsetry and knickers followed suit. "You're so fucking beautiful," he growled.

Blood slicked the floor and she felt her balance evaporate. "Oh!" But Draco caught her around the waist. Lowered them both to the floor.

"Perfect like this, mother." He knelt over her, staring down. Narcissa felt her hair fan into sticky, realised the cushion at her head was her dead husband's stomach.

"Draco." She reached for him, drunk on murder, and felt warm trickle down her arms. Draco was squeezing the hard-won heart over her. Like a sponge it yielded life fluid. She lowered her arms, let the sickly libation pour between her breasts.

"Here." Draco handed the heart to her. It was a dead weight. Heavy and rich with magic. She held it over Draco's back as he licked his way through the blood trails he'd made on her pristine breasts. Gasped pleasure when he bit at her hardened nipples. "Good, Draco. So good! Ah!"

She wrung the heart over his back. Watched the blood pour in lessening rivulets. It decorated his spine and the muscular planes so brilliantly. His tongue was rough in her navel, knowing it was a dangerous pleasure. She arched in her husbands guts, one hand scrambling in his opened chest cavity and the other holding his heart to her own. "Taste me, darling," she managed. "Drink me!"

Her thrashing head upset a bowel and it squelched near her ear, sent an arc of something greenish spattering her face. She blew the filth away from her lips on a pleasured pant, tasted something vaguely acidic.

Draco obeyed his lover with gusto. His tongue parted hot folds swollen with her husband's blood and her own. He was in heaven this way, teeth deep in his favorite imbibement, bringing her to the screaming precipice of surrender.

And then it was his turn. His turn to reap the spoils of his war. Her acolyte assassin. Awkwardly their hands, bloody and slippery, fumbled at his trousers. Her arse squeaked in the liquid congealing beneath them when Draco shoved inside her. Lucius' body inched across the floor under the force of his son's powerful thrusts.

Narcissa cried out, curled brown-dried fingers in Draco's hair. He cried out, too - into his mother's mouth. Lucius' heart flattened between their bodies, emptied of blood at last. It stuck them together, bound them with its intricate structure.

Lost to Draco's desires, Narcissa stared out the window, past her husband's gaunt dead face. Witness was the moon, peering in through a musty pane. Witness was the fire crackling high in the floo beside them. Witness was - somewhere - Cupid.

That mythological timeless babe. He'd trained his arrows well enough on the copulating mother and son. Shot through their hearts with such dynamic precision they'd seen fit to collect an intact one to replace their own.

Draco howled his triumph, neck bent back in the black. Narcissa bit at the exposed part of him - the vulnerable pale. Her own conquest was a quieter one. A servant to her gore. A disciple to her deviance. Her dragon rampant. Her freedom's promise.

Her bloody Valentine.

**Fin. **Thank you for reading, lovies. I hope you enjoyed. If not, I warned you, didn't I?


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